


Salty Like My Tears

by Archaeopteryxthescribe



Category: Durarara!!, 七つの大罪 | Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins
Genre: All The Ships, Crack, Dimensional Portals, In Durarara!! at least, LITERALLY, M/M, Multi, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, They're going across the ocean, add more tags later, graysexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeopteryxthescribe/pseuds/Archaeopteryxthescribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When soulmates kissed sparks were supposed to fly, not literally of course. Probably. Maybe. It could just be the soulmates who kissed, but suddenly a portal has sucked them (just like each other) into another dimension. Wait, why is Meliodas a pirate captain? Why are the Seven Deadly Sins after some booty? I don't know, just go with it, and stop asking questions in summaries.</p>
<p>WARNING: PURE CRACK IN NON-CRACKISH FORMAT</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salty Like My Tears

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry but I own nothing

Izaya was not happy. He stormed in circles on his fine carpet. The one in the hallway that he always jumped over like it was lava. The windows of his main room seemed to reveal him to the world, opposite of what they usually did. For he, Izaya Orihara, Infamous Informant of Shinjuku and Ikebukuro, was having a crisis. Not just any crisis either. A sexuality crisis.

Humans, in his opinion, needed labels to feel pride. Gods did not. Gods were pride themselves.

Humans also understood these things. Izaya did not. Izaya had no sexuality. Had no lust, no sense of wistfulness for someone’s arms around his figure. No, he was separate from the humans. He was his own, and nobody else’s.

Humans would never get him. He didn’t want humans to get him.

Good thing he wasn’t in love with a human.

No, the god had fallen for Shizuo Heiwajima, beast of Ikebukuro.

And he wasn’t even his soulmate.

The words spread in a delicate scrawl, (that definitely wasn’t the monster’s), spelled out five simple words.

“Hello. What are you doing?”

Shizuo Heiwajima had never greeted him in his life. Never had he bothered to ask what Izaya was doing, except as a rhetorical question in asking him why he was in Ikebukuro.

Two things became clear once Izaya’s thoughts untwisted from their rushing stream.

One) Shizuo would never love Izaya.

Two) Izaya needed an identity.

The thought came to him after he had finally calmed down.

Sometimes gods did need labels after all.

………………………………………………………

Graysexual made the black and white world seem different.

He had a reason to be. A label that nobody could argue with, because nobody knew to look for it. He had, as a god, one thing to connect with his humans about.

Suddenly, he had shades and tones and pieces of grey speckled into his everyday decisions. Not only were people either one thing or the other. No longer was he the wreck he had been yesterday. He still didn’t see color. No, that he accepted that he never would. However, he had noticed grey and that was good enough.

That put him in such a good mood that he scared Namie enough for her to chuck a coffee mug at his head and tell him, “get lost you creep.”

Ah, how she cared for him~.

Thus he found himself skipping to Russia Sushi, when a familiar presence loomed menacingly over him, several blocks away.

“IZAAAYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” was heard across the entirety of Ikebukuro.

“Shizu-chan! I didn’t expect to see you today.”

He really hadn’t. He had simply wanted some ootoro and thought of the best place to get it, that place being Russia Sushi. In fact, seeing the beast of his affections slightly dampened his mood. Not very much, apparently, as Shizuo promptly asked him why he was in such a good mood.

“No matter, Shizu-chan. I have some things to attend to. Sayonara!”

As he turned to leave, he felt the brush of air as a vending machine fell victim to Shizuo’s mighty strength, and was hurtled at Izaya at alarming speed.

“I said, if you did hear me Shizu-chan, that I’m busy,” the man spoke menacingly as red eyes peered over a delicate shoulder.

“Then get the hell out of Ikebukuro!”

Izaya frowned. The action seemed to dampen the airy lightness of his entire aura.

Another vending machine was tossed.

Izaya ran.

He ran through alleys, streets, up ladders, and across roofs. At one point he might have ran through that one guy’s open window and out his apartment door.

He had run away his entire life. Why did this time feel so different?

Ah, this was like some bad, early 2000s, myspace era, OC fanfiction, he thought. ‘The self confident-type boy with red eyes and a god complex questions his morals, life, and sexuality at the menacing charms of the bad-boy type with some serious strength.’ At least, that’s how Erika would describe it.

Izaya shuddered at the thought of both the fangirl-extraordinaire and the idea of Shizu-chan as a ‘bad-boy type’.

Nope-ity nope nope nope, he was not going there.

He turned bright red as his mind, despite his sincerest wishes, did go there.

“Shit,” was all the blushing (and unusually distracted) informant had to say as he plummeted towards the street below. The Italian man, whom he had so rudely stormed the apartment of, screamed something about “lucky child”.

As he fell, Izaya realized his own mortality.

He screamed.


End file.
